Cold Calling
by Ladiladida
Summary: People are phoning for help after they are dead, Holmes investigates and soon uncovers the hidden life all the victims shared. Their search leads them to Blitz, a bar with more to it than meets the eye. Now Beta'ed
1. Scent

**Chapter 1**

The phone rang.

One of the uniformed officers answered it. "Sir, it's for you."Lestrade took the phone and said, "Hello."

"Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yes."

Suddenly Lestrade's blood ran cold, and the hairs on his neck stood on end. This caller sounded perfectly normal, but three days ago another call had started just as simply, but then had changed.

"I thought you might like to know where I am."

"What is your name? Where are you?" Lestrade asked hurriedly.

"My name is Jennifer Mumby. I'm locked in a toilet cubicle at a train station."

"Which station? Are you all right?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Are you all right?" Lestrade asked again. "Is someone else with you?"

"Well there was but..." The caller's voice had almost a mocking tone to it. "They killed me you see."

Before Lestrade could utter another syllable, the line went dead. He was unnerved. Three days ago, a similar call was put through to him. Peter Griffiths, a middle-aged librarian was found dead in his home. He had been strangled with a belt. He had called to report his own imminent murder at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, yet the coroner pronounced the time of Griffiths' death to be around 11 o'clock in the morning. Lestrade put the phone down and shouted for his team members.

...

Five hours later, Jennifer Mumby's body was found. The plastic bag over her head was fastened with a cord. As in Peter Griffiths's case, the phone call had come some hours after her time of death. Lestrade ran his fingers through his hair and chewed his lip. He looked over to Donovan.

She'd guessed what he was going to say before he said it. She looked less than pleased. "No, sir, not him."

"Do as I say, Sally. Get Sherlock here now!"

...

Sherlock pushed the cubicle door open and gazed at the dead woman's body with keen eyes. John stood at his shoulder and observed his every move. Jennifer's body was crumpled in the cubicle, flopped over the toilet, with her stomach resting on the seat, and her head towards the onlookers.

"You've got five minutes, Sherlock," Lestrade said from the door of the Ladies. "At least I know you'll get some results besides the obvious."

Sherlock examined Jennifer's body. Her fingers now rigid from rigor mortis were bent inwards and as Sherlock looked at her nails he saw a fibre from the cord.

"She fought back quite furiously."

His gaze then dropped to her feet and traced bruising on her ankles.

"Whoever did it had to kick her legs apart to force her down onto the toilet. My guess is she not only put up a fight but she made it very difficult for the killer. Suffocating her upright was too challenging," Sherlock said.

"It's surprising no one saw it," John said.

"Any CCTV?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, it shows she went in at 14.23. I got the phone call from her at four o'clock on the dot. Other people were in and out but nothing suspicious," Lestrade said.

"You're certain it was her voice?"

"Yes, we took her mobile and she has a personalised answer phone message. It's definitely her I spoke with."

"Pass me her phone," Sherlock said. Lestrade acquiesced. Sherlock immediately went to her inbox, found her last message, and read it aloud.

_Bought a skirt I know you will love, it's very you. B x_

_Received 10.58 am_

"Shall we go to her flat, try and find out who B is?" John said.

"Most definitely and then to Peter Griffiths's flat."

Sherlock spent another two or three minutes examining Jennifer and aside from the obvious the only other thing he picked up on that was worth noticing was she was wearing men's deodorant. The pair of them left the scene and headed for Jennifer Mumby's flat.

...

In Jennifer Mumby's hallway, Sherlock noticed and picked up a Royal Mail notice for a parcel that was unable to be delivered. As Sherlock examined Jennifer's living room, John emerged from her bedroom.

"I've looked everywhere. No photographs, notes or anything that mentions a B. However I did find a can of men's deodorant in the bathroom. She could have had a boyfriend over."

"Quite possibly. Doesn't explain why she'd choose that deodorant. The most obvious explanation when a woman wears men's deodorant is when she's had no chance to get home before the next day."

"Also there are a few men's clothes so someone was obviously staying over in some capacity."

"Though we can infer from her flat that she's single."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, there's a subconscious setting to it," Sherlock said.

"You could say the same about our flat."

"Not at all, any subconscious imprints we have on the flat Mrs Hudson eradicates." Sherlock almost smiled, this made John chuckle slightly.

"I distinctly remember a head in our fridge; what would that say about your subconscious?"

"A mind bent on knowing more than the obvious." Sherlock replied as he followed in the footsteps John had already taken and took to examining the rest of the flat.

"Which is exactly why you're retracing every step I have taken." John raised an eyebrow. He was not surprised when this comment was ignored by Sherlock, who continued his search. John followed Sherlock into the bedroom and saw him look at the men's clothes.

"Interesting," Sherlock said and then he moved to Jennifer's dressing table where he began examining her cosmetics. Picking up a perfume bottle, he sniffed it. "So Ms Mumby was a Chanel wearer, though on those clothes I distinctly smell Dior if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh, you're an expert on perfume now? Is that what you did before you created your own job? I could see you on a counter in Debenhams," John joked, but again was ignored.

"So if we don't wear Dior how come Dior is on the clothes?"

"Maybe there was another woman," John suggested.

"Maybe."

Without another word, Sherlock marched out of the bedroom and before John could catch him up, he was out the door of the flat.

"Don't wait for me then," John said to himself.

...

Peter Griffiths's flat showed evidence of a man divorced, photographs of graduating children, impeccable suits, yet a messy home. Sherlock sniffed the air. "The same perfume as in Jennifer Mumby's flat,."

"Hmmm."

"You noticed that as soon as we got here, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Sherlock also noticed a business card for a bar called Blitz. He tucked it into his pocket. He then strode into the bathroom and glancing around quickly he soon spotted something behind the toilet. John watched as Sherlock pulled out a cosmetic bag and unzipped it, disclosing a bottle of Dior perfume and a kohl eyeliner.

"Well, well," Sherlock said, holding up the eyeliner. "Think I'm starting to see."

"Care to fill me in?" John replied.

But before he had finished his sentence, Sherlock had left the flat.


	2. Blitz

**Chapter 2**

Sherlock and John went to Lestrade's office the following day, where Sherlock related everything he had noticed at the victims' flats.

"I feel Peter Griffiths and Jennifer Mumby were connected in some way. There are traces of perfume in Jennifer's flat that was found in Peter Griffiths home."

"And both had objects or clothes belonging to the opposite sex," John said.

"We checked the phone records," Lestrade said. "Jennifer has made frequent calls to Peter Griffiths's home."

"Any texts?"

"Peter Griffiths's phone had several signed with a G and a kiss," Lestrade said. "I noticed some from a person called Bella on Jennifer's phone further down her inbox."

"So that would be B then, except the text I read was a different number," Sherlock said.

"Did Jennifer know of Peter's murder?" John asked.

"No, we only told his children and his ex-wife, not the general public. Until now that is. It wasn't easy to keep Jennifer's murder quiet, it being in a public toilet," Lestrade said.

"So she got a message from B, which presumably is Bella, just before her death?" John said.

"Yes," Sherlock said and then placed his hands on his head and closed his eyes.

"This makes no sense. Who is Bella?" Lestrade said.

"Then was she expecting to meet Peter Griffiths," John said to Sherlock.

"You're thinking too trivially," Sherlock said. "Perfume, clothes, both seemingly single, she wore men's deodorant, they'd been seeing each other, and presumably they went to Blitz together, things hidden in the bathroom..."

"We traced any links to Jennifer and found she was a regular gym goer, that's maybe why our murderer had problems attacking her," Lestrade said.

Sherlock's head jerked upwards and his eyes widened.

"He knows," John said, amused, whilst Lestrade looked blank.

"Why would a man have eye liner and perfume if he lived alone? If it was a woman's, she'd have taken it with her, Dior being quite expensive… Similarly the clothes in Jennifer's flat would have been a similar size to her…"

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade asked.

"Are you saying they were cross dressers, Sherlock?" John said.

"That's precisely what I'm saying. You're learning, John."

"Cross dressers!" Lestrade said. "I've heard it all now!"

"Bella was Peter's alter ego and G was presumably Jennifer's, which will be a man's name. And as they got closer, they likely became pet names. They weren't frightened of being themselves with each other," Sherlock said.

"But how would you go about meeting someone like that?" Lestrade butted in.

"Peter Griffiths visited Blitz."

"But you wouldn't drop into a conversation, 'Hi, I'm a cross dresser,' on a date in a bar," John said.

"That's exactly what they did, but not at the bar, somewhere else," Sherlock said. "Goodbye, Lestrade. I'll be in touch."

"What do you want me to do?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock didn't answer but John just gave half a smile.

...

John was cooking pasta in the kitchen; the present murders were not his priority as his need for food took over.

"This looks rather good, Sherlock. You should eat," John said as he poked his head round the door. Sherlock was currently flopped on the sofa, deep in thought.

"No, thank you," Sherlock replied tensely.

"Suit yourself."

Several minutes passed and as John was serving up his food, Sherlock said.

"He's short."

"Who is?"

"Our murderer."

"What makes you say that?"

"Both our victims had been forced down before being killed, obviously strangling them or suffocating is difficult when they are standing," Sherlock said. "Peter Griffiths was quite tall and Jennifer was very physically fit."

"Could the murderer be a woman?"

"Maybe."

John moved to the vacant seat. He was pleased at last that he could have a rest and regain his energy. But Sherlock jumped up from the sofa and crossed the room briskly.

"Come on!"

"What?" John asked.

"I feel the need for some air."

"I'm eating!"

"You can get yourself a bag of crisps at the bar."

"What bar?"

"Blitz."

Sherlock shrugged on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. John rubbed his eyes in disbelief, shocked that by now he wasn't used to Sherlock's erratic decisions.

"Can't it wait five minutes?" he pleaded.

He received no verbal answer, Sherlock moved to the door. The answer was loud and clear. With a heavy sigh, John banged his plate down on the table and grabbed his coat.

"Wait!"

...

There was something odd about the bar; John couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't a gay bar, nor did it seem steeped in criminal activity. But something about it wasn't like your usual bar. Plus there was a Rocky Horror night on which just topped it off for John.

"Does this place feel odd to you?"

Sherlock didn't answer, instead he nonchalantly scanned the room. John laughed to himself.

"No doubt all places like this feel odd to you," John continued. "It's very strange seeing so many Frank N Furters in here."

"A beehive for the likes of our victims."

"That's a bit general."

"John, you are thinking something similar," Sherlock replied wryly and he headed to the bar. The dress code was extended to the bar staff and soon a young woman with backcombed blonde hair and heavy makeup came over to them.

"What can I get you?" she said.

"I'd like a pint, please," John asked politely.

"Are there often nights like this held here?" Sherlock asked.

"What, themes you mean? Yeah, pretty often," she replied. "Take it you're new, either that or under that coat you're wearing stockings and suspenders… but you look a bit straight laced for that."

John was surprised when the woman winked at Sherlock and in turn Sherlock adopted one of his 'personas' to gain information.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied.

"So, two pints, sweetie?" she asked smiling.

"Yes, please." Sherlock half-smiled back. "What's your name?"

"Anna. And you?"

"Sherlock."

Anna looked at him incredulously a moment, then realising he was serious, she nodded.

"I see," she said. "And your friend?"

"John," John replied, and at this she looked more surprised.

"Sherlock and John… I expected something more…" She smiled again, broadly this time. It bypassed the heavy eyeliner and bouffant hair, and John noticed even if Sherlock didn't that she was quite pretty.

She fetched two glasses and began pulling their pints whilst all around throngs of Franks, Magentas, Rockys and co. drank, stumbled and danced the night away.

"I think we picked the wrong night," John said. "Then again I've never felt so normal and yet the odd one out at the same time. Mentally you probably feel right at home."

"It's the perfect place to blend in."

"Yeah, if you're into this type of thing."

"Indeed."

Anna returned with their pints and there was a pause. Sherlock looked at John until John took out his wallet and paid reluctantly, giving Sherlock a flat look.

"Do you work here often?"

"Most nights, why?"

"I was recommended to come here by a friend," Sherlock said.

"Oh, who?"

"Jennifer Mumby. Do you know her?"

"'Course, though she's G in here."

"G," Sherlock said with a laugh. "She told me only Peter called her that."

"No one from her circle knew her in here so she could be what she wanted. And if she wanted to be George, she'd be George."

"She was always quite shy about it, though. Wasn't she?" Sherlock said as though he had been staunch friends with Jennifer for twenty years.

"Not so much these days. Peter took longer to relax. He was never really Bella in public."

John watched as Sherlock's eyes subtly changed as he burned the information into his brain, but then looking sideways he noticed two over eye-linered women were gazing at him. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"I'm just going to the bathroom, Sherlock."

John tried to slide unnoticed between the crowd, leaving Sherlock talking to Anna. He hoped nobody would stop him. The last thing he wanted was to be kidnapped by a Rocky.

"Your friend doesn't look like he wants to be here."

"He doesn't."

Anna smiled again though Sherlock's tone was completely unreadable now, but then looking about her, she noticed there were customers to be served.

"Sorry, nice to meet you Sherlock..."

"Did they have any other friends who came in here of a similar mind?"

"No… so tonight's not your lucky night, sweetheart," Anna said giving him a shrug. "Or who knows? Here anything's possible."

With that, she moved away from him to continue serving. Sherlock moved to a spare table in a darker corner where he could observe the bar undisturbed. The comings and goings of the fellow punters would have been interesting to some people, but Sherlock was only interested in anything connected to the investigation. He was certain this bar played a part somehow. John eventually returned and found him.

"That was the most terrifying trip to the men's room I've had," John said. He did look hot and flustered. "At least I hope it was the men's room."

"This is the place; our murderer has been here and I am sure he still comes here."

"Do you think this is the place where Jennifer and Peter met?" John asked.

"Possibly."

The pair sat for around fifteen minutes, and in that time Sherlock noticed Anna disappearing after an intense conversation with a male. Where they were going he could only guess and the desire to did not interest him at all. Just then his phone vibrated. H

Sherlock read the message. "Time to go," he announced as he got up from his seat.

John got up and followed, the churning demands of his stomach reminding him of his missed meal. But as ever he went where Sherlock led.


	3. Night

**Chapter 3**

Sherlock liked the darkness of the sitting room. As he lay there in his pyjamas pondering, the rest of London was sensibly sleeping. How long he'd been there he wasn't sure, John had gone to bed and he had replaced his nicotine patches before reclining on the sofa. A few questions were going round his mind as his circles of deduction were growing wider.

Why had Jennifer Mumby not discovered Peter had disappeared?

Had the killer lured Jennifer to the toilets?

If so, how had the killer got in and out of the toilets without attracting attention?

The answer to the first question he was not certain of yet; for the other two questions he had strong suspicions. If Jennifer had still believed Peter to be alive, then the killer could have easily texted her to meet him. Why a public toilet? Perhaps they were into sex in public places… And afterwards all the killer had needed was to delete the message from her phone. Then there had been the previous message about the skirt, luring Jennifer into a false sense of security. Sherlock felt it was likely that whoever the murderer was must have been impersonating a woman, or was a woman. How else could they have come and gone without arousing suspicion?

Now another question posed itself…

Who hated this couple enough to want to kill them?

It was clear to Sherlock that this other life they led was a secret. They met, found communion in their gender swapping or cross dressing and indulged in casual sex together. But could it be they forged an emotional tie between them? It was here Sherlock neither understood nor needed to care about how these two had come together. What he needed was either another clue or another murder to enable him to cast a wider net of deduction.

"Jesus Christ!" John yelled as he walked in bleary eyed, nearly jumping out of his skin. Sherlock's lolling in the dark had completely startled him. He was shuddering all over as he leant against the doorframe. But the more he shuddered the more he was annoyed at himself for being startled.

John moved to switch the main light on.

"Don't," Sherlock ordered quietly. "I appear to have startled you."

"Just a bit, yes."

"You didn't imagine I'd be tucked up in bed did you?"

"I was hoping you'd started to practise thinking in your bed, rather than lurking in the dark."

"Lying here is not lurking, John."

John sat himself down in a chair and turned on a lamp. Sherlock's eyes winced as the small amount of light invaded his retina and he blinked several times.

"I don't fancy sitting in the dark for a chat; it's too creepy for my liking," John said.

Sherlock chuckled. "Does talking to me in the dark scare you?"

"It's usual to be able to see someone when you spoke to them. So, any epiphanies?"

"A few thoughts," Sherlock replied quietly.

"And you're thinking that…"

"My gut instinct tells me there's more to this than merely murdering a couple of cross dressers."

"So you're predicting another murder?"

"There will be one; it's just a matter of waiting. Unfortunately, waiting is increasing my boredom," Sherlock said matter of factly.

"As usual, your compassion knows no bounds, Sherlock," John said and again there was silence for a while. Then he said, "That bar..."

"What about it?"

"Well I don't really see how Jennifer and Peter would have had chance to properly meet in there, even if it was just to hook up for sex. There's so many people and so much going on they've must have found each other another way."

"You're thinking the internet?"

"Yes."

"As usual, John you've mentioned a strong case of the probable and obvious."

"That woman, Anna. She seemed to know a fair bit about them; surely she would know how they met."

"Doubtful. She's only a bar maid, bar maids hear a lot of things but 99 percent of it is meaningless. Yet it makes them feel like they are providing a service," Sherlock said.

"I thought she seemed rather nice." John sighed.

"Well, you know where she works, though I think you would be lucky to catch her there."

"Why? She said she works there most nights."

"And pops out when they are at their busiest… with a customer." Sherlock replied in a tone that showed even mentioning Anna was incredibly tedious.

"So from that one sight of her you've got it in your head-"

"John, you must know me well enough to know I deduce people and circumstances very quickly. That entire bar is brimming with the need to release sexual tension. That doesn't exclude the bar staff."

"Aren't most bars and clubs?"

"I neither know nor care."

That was John's cue to drop the subject as Sherlock now turned on his side facing away from him. The pair of them were thinking, in fact thinking so hard it was a wonder the sounds of cogs turning did not wake Mrs Hudson.

"Blitz is probably just were the murderer targets his victims," John said.

"Bravo! Now if I were you, I'd go back to bed."

"Right." John got up and walked towards the door, but a cough from Sherlock made him return and switch off the lamp.

"Goodnight."

Sherlock remained on the sofa, now resting on his back again, and he spoke only one thing aloud into the dusty darkness that surrounded him.

"Where are you finding them?"


	4. Three

**Chapter 4**

The following day Sherlock had outlined a boring to do list for Lestrade; amongst the instructions were checking all phone records, internet histories and anything else that could link how the two victims had originally met. Sherlock meanwhile was more interested in Blitz, and surfing on the web, he examined their website. On the surface, it seemed respectably quirky, just an average bar with a handful of theme nights a month. But that didn't make it anything special. There was more to find, Sherlock was sure of it.

Lestrade soon phoned him back with the results. Neither Peter nor Jennifer visited dating websites or anything online that could indicate the origin of their relationship. In fact the pair were pretty ordinary, boring as Sherlock thought privately. They had the job, the nice flat, the Sky subscription and yet an unusual sexual fetish. As it drew on to the later hours of the night, Sherlock was finding it all mindnumbingly tedious. As the rain poured down outside, both he and John found themselves at a loose end.

"This is a vacuous day," Sherlock groaned, getting up from the laptop, his hands ruffling through his hair in frustration. He flung himself on the sofa and examined the ceiling. "There must be something in their boring existences that could give us a clue."

John came forward and placed himself at the laptop, the Blitz website still being open. He himself was intrigued by the place and began having a look around.

"It doesn't look like the place we were in," John noted.

"Bored." Sherlock replied.

As John browsed the website, he was curious about any affiliates or sponsors, he felt it must have something for it to be such a boom. He clicked and soon found something he thought was interesting.

"Sherlock," he said but he got no response, and before he could speak again Sherlock's phone rang. Sherlock practically jumped up.

"News!" he said gladly and then answered the phone. "Hello?"

There was a crackling and a heavy sigh that sounded distant from the phone.

"Hello? Who's speaking?"

"Mr Holmes," an unknown voice said.

"Yes, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"You need to come and get me," the emotionless voice continued.

"Where are you? What's your name?"

"I'm lying on a hotel bed."

"Which hotel?"

"It's getting difficult to breathe." The voice said now with a touch of sardonic laughter. "But you see, I'm dead."

Before Sherlock could say more, the line went dead. John looked at Sherlock, who for a second seemed in stasis. Then like lightning, Sherlock leapt up and bounded across the room with a spring in his step.

"John!" he called as he headed out the door; John took one last look at the laptop screen and then followed Sherlock.

…

The taxi was moving slowly in the traffic but Sherlock was looking on his phone for hotels.

"There are hundreds of hotels, Sherlock," John pointed out.

"But it's likely our friend went there after going to Blitz, it fits the pattern. Now if it were for a sexual encounter, it would be a hotel nearby, so if I narrow down the search to the hotels in a mile's radius… Let's see! Aha! A Premier Inn, a five minute walk from Blitz!"

Sherlock instructed the driver to head to the hotel.

"You could be right about the sexual encounters," John admitted.

"What have you found?"

"On the website, it says it's affiliated with a channel on Sky that goes by the name of FlirtFetish. It's one of those channels were people can text in, leave photos and answer phone messages. It's essentially an opportunity for someone who wants sex to find a partner for the night."

"That's what Blitz is. It's a safe haven, a public place to meet someone you've never met before prior to spending the night with them."

"It's actually more responsible than some of these channels were people just arrange to meet blindly," John said.

Sherlock looked at John curiously.

"I mean if you're into that type of thing," John clarified.

"Jennifer and Peter both subscribed to Sky and I bet this fellow does too; that's how our murderer is finding them. He's not seeing them at Blitz, he's stalking the chat channel, likely posing as someone looking for an assignation," Sherlock mused.

"But Peter and Jennifer were in a relationship already when they were killed. Surely it would be easier to pick off single people? "

"Likely the original intention. Perhaps the sight of these two finding something beyond sexual gratification was repulsive to the murderer."

"But that still doesn't explain how they are phoning when they are dead," John said.

…

Sherlock browbeat the receptionist until she gave him a list of possible rooms. Then the room was located by calling the rooms and checking out each one in which the phone call was unanswered. Sherlock entered the room while John called Lestrade. Everything seemed as usual in the room, aside from a man in his early twenties sprawled out unnaturally on the bed. He was wearing make up and was clad in stockings, suspenders and a dress. A make up-smeared pillow rested by the side of his head and John soon deemed asphyxiation to be the cause of death.

"Dead for about two hours," Sherlock said, examining the body all over. "Alcohol on the breath, shaping of the feet suggests frequent wearing of heels, fingernails pristinely painted so has been repeatedly done, gay…"

"How do you know he was gay?"

"Two scents of aftershave. One is his, the other isn't."

Sherlock darted over to the original set of clothes worn by the man.

"They are wet but not soaking, so likely they walked here but not far. They walked from Blitz."

"His driving licence says Carl Vine, 24 years old."

"Our killer is a man."

…..

Lestrade arrived and Anderson gave Sherlock an unwelcome reception after finding he had (in his view) tampered with the crime scene. After making their deductions Sherlock and John headed back out and soon John found himself standing outside Blitz again.

The bar was busy though the crowd showed signs of ebbing. Sherlock instructed John to go and ask the bar staff if a man of Vines' description had been in. He however was looking for something entirely different.

"Hi," a woman said flirtatiously, sidling to his left side. She winked one heavily mascara'd eye. "Nice coat."

"Thank you."

"You here on your own?"

"No," Sherlock replied not looking at her but instead scanning the room.

"Shall we get a drink?" the woman said again, flicking his coat collar to get his attention.

"No. But you might want to try those men at that table, they look interested in you," he replied nonchalantly and walked off leaving the woman surprised by his exit.

Sherlock did not absorb the lustful looks in people's faces as they eyed one another up in the bar; if any such looks were sent his way he didn't pay any attention. He knew the murderer would not be here now, though, and in truth he didn't know what he was looking for exactly.

"Hello again," said a voice near to him. He turned and saw before him a tall, slender blonde young woman who he remembered as Anna, the barmaid. Tonight though, she was dressed in a fitted black dress, her hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves, and her face shaded with expertly-applied make up. She looked normal, but all this was merely a passing millisecond to Sherlock.

"Hello."

"You came on a more normal night this time. You seem more at home."

"You are here on your night off," he observed.

"I like it here."

So she was just like all the others. His impression from the other day was right.

"Is it safe meeting people here?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"FlirtFetish."

"Oh," she said, eying him. "Why? Are you meeting someone?"

"No."

Anna caught sight of John at the bar and she nodded.

"Your friend's with you again."

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "How might you tell on a night like this who you were meeting?"

"Well, there is a number system at the bar if you want, so you say might get 121 and text that to who you're meeting, then when they arrive they can go to the bar say the number and 121 will flash on the plasma screens. Then you come to the bar and meet."

"Do many people follow this procedure?"

"About half." "And the other half?"

"I don't know. Maybe they describe what they are wearing, or wait outside. They tend to be the shyer ones."

"Are there many people who come regularly, looking for a different… partner each time?"

"Yeah."

"What about those looking for something specialist?"

"You're going to have to tell me what's going on!" Anna said.

"Yours friends, Jennifer and Peter, have been murdered."

"I know. I read it in the paper."

"We've just found another young man's body this evening. He was here earlier tonight."

"Was he a cross dresser?" Anna asked.

"Yes."

Suddenly Anna's phone vibrated and she took it out. Sherlock watched her as she read her message. He noticed a faint smile coming over her lips then it dropped when she sensed him watching her.

"I have to go. Nice to see you again, Sherlock."

She turned to walk away, as she did so the distance gave Sherlock a better view of her person, in particular this evening her slender yet shapely legs were on display, heightened by a pair of red stilletos. Another man would have registered the need to copulate with her, but Sherlock confined her to another millisecond of deeming her attractive and that was all.

John returned and filled Sherlock in on the bar staff's knowledge of Vine's movements that evening.

"He left with a young man about the same age as him, with dark hair, heavy stubble, about six foot tall."

"He isn't the murderer. Our murderer is short."

"Could they be a team? One is a plant to lure them in?" John suggested. Both started to notice one of the bar staff talking to two bouncers and looking in their direction.

"This game John is tactically played," Sherlock said and they walked towards the fire escape. "But for now I think it's time to go."

The bouncers moved in their direction, but they passed through the fire escape door and were lost to them. The pair walked around the back of the bar. Suddenly a figure passed in front of them. The figure started.

"Oh God!" she cried. It was Anna.

"Sorry!" John said. "Oh hello!"

"Hello," she said with a strange smile and then walked off, what surprised John but not Sherlock was that not ten seconds later a man emerged from the same spot rearranging his clothes. He couldn't meet their eye and walked off quickly, red with embarrassment.

"That girl is quite interesting," John mused.

"Hmmm," Sherlock replied and soon the pair mingled with the shadows to return home.


	5. Solo

**Chapter 5**

John and Sherlock sat in the flat of Carl Vine, Lestrade having given them permission. Together they were scouring FlirtFetish, a task that so far had taken two hours. It was almost hypnotic, listening to the thinly veiled sexual invitations, the flirty texts appearing on the screen and some downright weird photographs. They had been in to speak to an administrator of FlirtFetish earlier in the day and had gained all the information on the three victims usage, and those they communicated with. Carl Vine used the name Stud86, Jennifer was Shadowlass and Peter was ThinkDeep.

"Carl spoke to Betterwith3, the man he arranged to meet," Sherlock said, growing frustrated at the mindnumbingly depressing sight he was watching.

"And Peter was also approached by a The1wanting, but he obviously arranged to meet Jennifer instead. Is there a connection that they all submitted pictures?"

"Definitely. And have you noticed Peter and Carl's correspondents both have the number of the order they were killed in within the name. Not original, not smart."

"You said sometimes killers like to be caught; he might be making a statement."

"That's exactly what he's doing," Sherlock whispered.

"So we are looking for someone with four in their name, but that's impossible there's been at least five on in the last fifteen minutes. Hot4u, B4dawn, JJ444…"

"This will be the hardest number. But one will stand out."

"That's if the murderer chooses tonight."

"He's doing it in a narrow space of time; he knows he can't do it forever. He'll make the most of it." Sherlock nodded.

They sat silent for a moment, John looked over to Sherlock. He never looked tired, no matter how long he went without eating or sleeping properly. He only ever looked rough when he was 'bored.'

"You alright Sherlock?"

"Mmm. You?"

"Slightly disturbed by all this," he said almost with a laugh; this brought out a lighter look on Sherlock's face.

"These challenging cases are the best ones."

…

"John."

"Yes."

"Go and do a search of past deaths, suicides or whatever. You know the kind of particulars."

"I'll get right on it," John said; glad to be leaving Carl's flat for something productive.

…

There was something that had been puzzling Sherlock, during the last phone call a sort of sighing noise had been heard before Carl had begun speaking. It had been scratching at his brain ever since and when he realised its origin he jumped up in the air. He was pleased with himself but he had no audience; it was never as gratifying if he didn't have an audience. He texted Lestrade.

_It's a Dictaphone. Obvious. SH_

It was an obvious answer, but the lack of emotion of the victims was what had first thrown him off the scent. If you knew you were going to die, you'd betray fear in your voice. These people were monotone. How that was achieved now fixated him.

…

_What have you found? SH_

_Two suicides. John._

_Keep looking. Check for disappearances. SH_

_That's a pretty wide range. John_

_One disappearance stands out Arthur Bell 53, he has three children but it was his ex who reported him missing three weeks after he was last seen. John_

John got no reply.

_His wife divorced him after catching him in a hotel with a man. John._

_Good work. SH_

….

_John are you free for dinner tonight? Sarah _

_Dinner sounds great. But on a case. With Sherlock I never know when my time is my own. Want to see you. John x_

_Can I book you for a month in advance? Sarah x_

_Lol. I will make time tonight and Sherlock won't be joining us. John x_

_How about we eat at mine? Sarah x_

_Sounds great. John xx_

_7? Sarah x_

_See you there. John x_

….

"I am going for dinner at Sarah's tonight, Sherlock. There's nothing going on with the case that I can help with. You don't need me," John said as he put on his coat. Sherlock had merely raised an eyebrow at him when he'd mentioned going to Sarah's.

"You're right," Sherlock mused. "But keep your phone on. I might need you."

"Not tonight, Sherlock."

"You are the one that reminds me that people are dying." Sherlock said with a hint of amusement.

"If there's a call then ring me, but if you want some milk or for me to fetch a newspaper from the table for you, do it yourself. Dating might not be your area, but I'm dying for it to be mine. Do you hear me?" John said emphatically.

"Boring."

"Right, I'm off," John said, rolling his eyes as he headed out the door before Sherlock had time to delay him further.

Sherlock got up and again looked over the notes John had made on Arthur Bell, coupled with the background information Lestrade had rooted out for him. Arthur had been an isolated man; after his wife discovered him with another man, his children had cut him out of their lives. But unlike the victims of the case, Arthur had cruised for sex on the internet and Joel, the man he was found with, was nowhere to be seen either.

Sherlock knew this man's disappearance was somehow connected to the murders. It was that deep gut feeling he had that he couldn't prove physically but that his deduction screamed at him. Three children who hadn't noticed he had disappeared. Yet it was odd to Sherlock how the ex-wife still did.

He cast his mind back to Blitz and the goings on there; it was a perfect place for a predator. With a busy bar and a dance floor, who would notice anything out of the ordinary? It had been testified as the safe way to meet people, yet three had been murdered after their association with it. John had been right; it was likely this was a two-part operation. There was a plant to meet the people, but were they the killer? And did they know about the murders?

For a moment, Sherlock pondered how complicated these people's lives were. Going on a chat channel to meet someone, vetting them at a bar, before heading off for sex. How complicated, how tedious. He was pleased he was beyond all that.

His mind drifted to Anna. He remembered her working behind the bar then the contrast when she was a customer. There was no doubt she'd had an assignation behind Blitz, yet when they locked eyes there had been no shame, no embarrassment, in fact there was no emotion at all in her eyes. He almost admired her for being disconnected; clearly working in that place had made her immune to complicating it. Instead she chose carnal sex in a grotty dark corner. Sherlock was amused; few would admire her for that which just showed how far apart he was from everyone else.

With nothing else to do, Sherlock made a decision, he would go back to Blitz and perch at the bar and watch out for those who came to give out and collect their number. He was beginning to have an image of his murderer, now he needed to try and spot the murderer in reality.

…..

Blitz was more crowded than ever; Saturday night brought everyone out. People to'd and fro'd from the bar so much Sherlock was glad he had sharp hardware to keep track. He'd been sitting for over half an hour and with the time drawing past nine, the full extent of the hubbub began. At times some people mistook his casual gaze as interest but he soon put them right in true Sherlock style. By the end he almost had a small bubble of personal space around him, as his individual attitude appeared stand offish. But soon a familiar voice spoke to him.

"Can I sit here?"

Sherlock turned and saw Anna. He was pleased; she could maybe clear a few things up for him.

"Yes."

"Congratulations," she said.

"On what?"

"On putting everyone off," she said, as she took a seat. "Your soul mate could be in here."

"Soul mates do not exist. Relationships are hormones and tolerance," Sherlock replied coolly.

"Bitterness talking."

"Reason talking."

"Well, you're in luck, I don't believe in all that shit either," Anna said. "In fact, I'm more inclined to take your view."

"You'll be shunned for it."

"No." She smiled. "I won't."

"Who owns Blitz?" he asked finally.

"Mr Montague. Well, his name's Henry, but we all call him Mr Montague," Anna said and she soon pointed out a smartly dressed man who lingered by one of the security guards. He looked average enough to Sherlock, nothing exceptional to rouse his interest. Whilst Anna looked around the bar, Sherlock again looked her over. Tonight she was wearing a pair of black fitted jeans and a strapless top. It highlighted her curves. Her neck was hidden behind a curtain of straight gold hair. It appeared strange how she was here so often. She couldn't be looking for a sexual partner every night when she wasn't working.

"Are you just a barmaid here?"

"Nooooo," she trilled. "Second in command. Some nights I'm here like this just to check things run smoothly and there's no funny business."

"Drugs, prostitutes or worse."

"Exactly."

They were silent for a while, as the noise of the music, clinking of glasses and chatter of people shrouded them. No one approached them; Mr Montague sent a casual glance their way, but no more than anyone else in the bar.

"It's a fabulous front, isn't it?" she said at last, bringing his attention back to her. Her eyes were looking right into his, though she bore no expression.

"Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves."

Anna's phone beeped. She checked her messages and then looked in Mr Montague's direction. She nodded at him.

"Giving the all clear," she explained. "No funny business that I can see."

"You seem to take a lot more interest in keeping the peace than most places."

"For the respectability of the bar and our affiliates. You know the link."

"Does this place mean that much to you?" Sherlock asked.

"Me? No. If I wasn't here I'd be trying to amuse myself somewhere else, but I've tried some things and it does no good. I get bored. Besides there are some upsides."

"Like what?"

"Meeting people. The money."

"People do not interest me really. Neither does money," Sherlock said flatly.

"Me neither. Well, I pretend it does. Like poor Jennifer blubbing about Peter. But he was in here sometimes cruising. His appetite wasn't for women some nights," she said, her face seeming harder than before.

"Peter was bisexual," Sherlock said.

"Yes. Jennifer didn't know." Her tone softened. "And apparently neither did you."

"All we've managed to surmise is that they had a relationship and that they both sought sex through FlirtFetish before."

"I think he loved her, but when you swing both ways, I daresay you can't stick to just one side."

Sherlock thought to himself, the channel operated all day which was when Peter Griffiths was killed in his own home. It was so clear; Peter would have arranged an assignation with a man at a time when Jennifer would be at work.

He looked at Anna with excited eyes. It was all fitting together. She looked emotionless, beautiful and devoid of feeling. It was that blankness that made him appreciate her beauty more acutely, though he registered no attraction.

He wanted to speak to her further but her phone beeped again. This time the text seemed to give her a graver expression but he noticed how she tried to hide it. Looking about she spotted a guy wearing a red shirt.

"Excuse me." She got up and moved away. Sherlock watched her go over to the man in question and soon they began dancing together. No smile appeared on Anna's face as she became engrossed in the dance, but her partner was obviously a friend of hers. They moved together fluidly but in a way that was not sexually charged. Sherlock watched her intently; he found her ability to integrate quite fascinating considering how distant she was about other people.

Deciding to watch her no further, he looked back to Mr Montague, but he'd gone. The bouncers weren't looking his way and once again he appeared invisible. Focusing back on the comings and goings of the bar, Sherlock never noticed Anna leave suddenly.


	6. Craig

**Chapter 6**

Sherlock was still sitting at the bar when he was approached by Henry Montague. He had no interest in talking to the proprietor, but Mr Montague certainly had something to say to him.

"May I ask what you're doing here Mr Holmes?" Mr Montague said.

"The fact that you know my name shows you already know why I'm here."

"These murders have nothing to do with us. It's nothing but circumstantial. So I would appreciate if you and your colleagues stopped prowling the bar. It will put customers off!"

"Your bar and your affiliate FlirtFetish are the vehicle for the murderer to select a victim. Until the murderer is found then you will just have to put up with it."

"I will do you a deal Mr Holmes. You tell me the exact dates these people were last seen at my bar then I will allow you to trawl the CCTV footage. That should help you, shouldn't it?" Mr Montague said impatiently.

"Yes."

"Follow me."

…..

Sherlock scanned every grainy frame of the bar footage. He'd spotted Carl Vine talking to several men, but soon he zoomed his sight in on a slender, dark haired man who left with Carl thirty minutes later in the footage. Now the next problem was linking this man with Peter and Jennifer's murders, as both were killed in the daytime. Trudging through the footage, Sherlock became frustrated until a shot of Peter Griffiths coming out of the toilets showed an exchange with a man, the same man that Carl Vine had left with. The conversation must have lasted a minute at most, but the body language suggested this was more than a mere brushoff. Sherlock took the CCTV tape with him to Lestrade.

….

The freeze-frame of the dark haired man was now blown up to an A4 size to make his features though blurred slightly easier to identify. John, Sherlock and Lestrade gazed at the image.

"He's not short, Sherlock."

"No, he's the bait. Our murderer isn't willing to disclose himself," Sherlock said. "What else?"

"Isn't he-?" John stepped forward and squinted at the picture. "Isn't he the man we saw with Anna that night behind the bar?"

"The very one."

Sally Donovan brought in a sheet of paper and handed it in to Lestrade.

"His name is Craig Philips. No criminal record." Lestrade handed the paper to Sherlock. "Sally, go pick him up."

"Is she working with him, do you think?" John asked, taking Sherlock aside. Sherlock was processing the latest details and chewing over the facts.

"That bar is highly scrutinised; they have a system to keep customers safe. This man is threatening that. I wondered why Henry Montague had got on his high horse all of a sudden."

"This doesn't make any sense," John said in a low voice.

"It does, John. We saw Craig with Anna after Carl Vines murder. That bar looks out for trouble. They've been onto Craig already but when he came back again they gave in and let me see the CCTV."

"But we saw, it was clear Anna had just had some kind of sexual encounter with Craig."

"Maybe that's what they wanted us to think."

"Why do I get the feeling there's more to this than we initially thought?" John sighed, Sherlock looked at him and half smiled. His eyes were wide at the prospect.

"Because there is."

…..

Anna opened her door sleepily. Obviously she'd had a late night and this rude awakening was far from welcome. Her panda eyes and the way her hair was fluffed up slightly at the back showed that she'd still been in bed when the doorbell rang.

"What exactly are your job parameters at Blitz?" Sherlock asked her, caring little for her being dopey or tired. He barged past her and walked into her home. John however waited until she turned and he followed her in.

"Won't you come in?" She said sarcastically, flinging herself into a chair. Sherlock scanned her flat. It was untidy; she clearly wasn't at home much.

"Craig Philips," Sherlock said.

"Who?"

"The man we saw you with behind Blitz."

"Oh him." She yawned. "Trouble maker."

"It appeared that you'd had sex with him."

"That was your assumption," she said, locking gazes with Sherlock. Anna sat perfectly calmly, not threatened at all by Sherlock's questions or the disclosures he was asking her to make.

"You were warning him to stay away from the bar."

"Of course."

"Surely sending a bouncer over would have sufficed."

"Not the most subtle way to make a point, especially when you have no proof," Anna said. "Look, he comes in quite a bit and we noticed he was latching on to people, picking people out. We assumed he was a prostitute. I came in in my civvies to check that theory out. Simple, safe and doesn't cause a scene in the bar."

"You didn't know what he was up to; he could have been a drug dealer or worse," John chipped in.

"I do kick boxing, John. I can look after myself,," Anna said. "And then when you kept coming in, Henry wasn't pleased, but I suggested it might be easier if he let you look at the CCTV. After all, Craig came back again."

"You do know he was seen leaving with one of the murder victims and talking to another. By now he'll have been brought into custody."

"Congratulations. I've told you all I know, now go and solve your case."

….

Sherlock and John walked and talked with Lestrade who explained Craig Philips had seemed under the influence and tested positive for cocaine. He was however remaining quiet on his doings with Carl Vine and Peter Griffiths. When Sherlock sat in front of him in an interrogation room, he saw Craig was shaking and obviously frightened. Sherlock read every sign of withdrawal from the high of cocaine betrayed by Craig's body and he decided to use the vulnerable state in his favour.

"Three people, Craig," Sherlock said simply.

"I haven't killed anyone."

"We know you met with both Peter Griffiths and Carl Vine through Blitz. What did you do with Jennifer, arrange an assignation in a public toilet privately so we wouldn't catch you as quick, or did you just fancy a change?" Lestrade said.

"I haven't killed anyone," Craig said defensively, his shaking increasing.

"People are disappointing, aren't they, Craig?" Sherlock said, mimicking a sympathetic tone.

"What?"

"You just wanted to find someone."

"I'm not gay."

"Using the channel to find someone, someone no one else would find out about. Your family would be ashamed, wouldn't they, Craig? If they knew you were gay. That you hook up with men who like to dress up as women."

"Look, it wasn't for me! I have a girlfriend."

"Then what's in it for you, Craig?"

"I haven't killed anyone. I needed the money; I got talking to this guy who said I could do a job for him. He said he was shy, he wanted someone to bring the people to him," Craig said.

"And you didn't find that odd?" Lestrade scoffed.

"I don't think Craig is quite thinking clearly. Let's be honest, Craig. Your girlfriend left you due to your drug habit, how else could you have had all this time on your hands? Did you meet Jennifer?"

"No. I only ever got sent to Blitz to meet those two."

"Tell us his name, Craig?"

"It doesn't matter about his name," Craig said shakily.

"Why's that?" Sherlock asked.

"Look, I don't know what he was wanting them for, and I didn't ask. I just wanted the money. My life's a mess… I just need the stuff and I'm okay…"

"Why does it not matter about his name, Craig?" Sherlock repeated.

"Because you're not the only one who's unhappy about what he's done."

"Who… who knows… who did you tell his name to?"

"I don't know- a guy came asking. He offered me more money than I was getting. I just needed a fix."

"Tell us his name!" Lestrade said. "Now he could be the one in danger."

Suddenly Sherlock's phone started to ring. He glanced at the number. It was withheld.

"Sherlock Holmes."

The sounds of sobbing came from the other end.

"They were sick. All of them. Like my dad. That's why!"

The voice was that of a crying man, a crying man who suddenly screamed.

"Let me speak to who has you!"

Lestrade got his people onto tracing the call. The sound of scuffling was heard, then a breath.

"He needs to go." A different voice said. A cold, unfeeling voice. "You can pick him up. If you're quick, you might still catch him."

Suddenly a sound of a gunshot was heard and a scream of agony, then the phone went dead.


End file.
